


Ride the Lightning

by womenseemwicked



Category: Metallica, Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: (but also), Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Bottom Billy Hargrove, Car Sex, Concerts, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Jealous Steve Harrington, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild S&M, References to Drugs, Secret Relationship, Smut, Steve Harrington-Centric, Top Steve Harrington, W.A.S.P. (band) - Freeform, dom billy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-17 00:54:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13065750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/womenseemwicked/pseuds/womenseemwicked
Summary: Billy takes Steve to a concert in Indianapolis. Steve does his damn best to fit in. His best is still preppy as shit.





	Ride the Lightning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gothyringwald](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothyringwald/gifts).



> inspired by a prompt and subsequent conversation with gothyringwald, blithesea, and several other lovely Harringrove shippers. thanks, guys. hope this scratches a bit of the itch for concert fics we were having about a week ago. *groans*

3:00 PM (January 30, 1985)

Steve gets to the parking lot of the Circle K outside Hawkins before Billy does. He’s never been to one of these things, and he’s nervous about being late.

He's also nervous about looking okay. Not knowing exactly the tone of a thing like this but knowing the show is at a place called Sherwood Country Club, he's settled for a dark red polo and some jeans that hug his ass almost as well as Billy's do. Neutral, but a little bit sexy.

The Camaro becomes distinctly audible when it’s still about half a mile off, and Steve smirks a little. Billy’s showing off. It isn't often they meet outside of town and he can broadcast his position like this. Steve gets out of the Beemer, tucking his wallet into his jeans as he locks the door from the inside.

They'd disagreed for a full afternoon over whose car was too precious to leave abandoned in an empty lot for the night, but Billy had won the argument some time between pointing out that Steve's dad had insured his car like the fucking Popemobile, and placing his lips just over the opening of Steve's jeans with slow intent and mouthing at it warmly. Steve has never been able to say no to Billy’s mouth. Not that he often tries.

Headlights, bright against the early sunset and the falling fog, bathe him in sudden light and Steve slips his Ray Bans on with a smirk as his boyfriend pulls into the parking spot adjacent to his.

Billy kills the engine and the lights go out suddenly, leaving Steve both blind and partially deaf until his hearing readjusts to the world without engine roar in it.

He smells and feels Billy come around the car to him more than anything. His cologne, his particular brand of cheap cigarettes, his warmth.

"You ready to rock with me, baby?" Billy purrs, and Steve can hear the smirk in his voice as he pulls off Steve's sunglasses.

Steve chuckles and allows himself to be kissed.

“So ready,” he murmurs back, but when Billy pulls away again he finally gets a glimpse of his boyfriend and for a moment the urge to just push him into the back seat of the Camaro and stay there all night nearly overwhelms him.

Shirt opened halfway down his chest, leather jacket tight over his broad shoulders, hair sprayed to perfection and styled within an inch of its life, and... is that... eyeliner?

"Damn, Hargrove," Steve breathes out, taking him in. "You tryin' to impress somebody?" He runs a hand down Billy's chest lightly, enjoying the shock that the cold touch gives them both. "’Cause it's working."

Billy smiles a little in spite of himself as he raises an eyebrow at Steve's outfit.

"Apparently I'm the only one. I told you this was Metallica, right? Not fucking Air Supply?"

Steve glances down at himself. He thinks Billy’s being a bit harsh. He doesn't look _bad_ , just... not as showy as Billy. And that’s nothing new.

"I figured this was... neutral...?" he shrugs. “You know I don’t own a t-shirt, let alone a leather jacket…”

Billy laughs and pinches the material of the polo away from his waist with a shake of his head.

"You're gonna get the tar beaten out of you in this Lacoste shit," he warns, slipping out of his leather jacket quickly. "Here. At least cover up."

"For the whole show? Won't I be too hot in that?" Steve pulls his own jacket out from his chest enough to point out the long sleeves.

"Probably," Billy concedes. "But at least you won't be embarrassing me."

Steve shakes his head and smiles, passing him on his way around to the passenger side of the Camaro and gives him a shove in lieu of taking the jacket.

"I'll be fine, asshole. You can keep it."

\------------

7:50 PM

As they pull into the parking lot hours later and several cities over, Steve begins to doubt his confident stance on his choice of clothes. _This_ is Sherwood Country Club?

He’s barely gotten out of the Camaro, stretching and glancing around at the parking lot packed with young people in leather and denim milling about from the backs of open cars, when his ears prick to the unmistakable sound of strangers talking about him.

"Get a load of polo shirt," somebody drawls with a voice like cigarette smoke. "Dude looks fuckin' lost."

He glances over, but the guy has eyes too glazed with drugs to care Steve is making eye contact, engaged in a derisive laugh at Steve's expense with his other stoner friends.

"C'mon, Harrington, let's go." Steve turns and follows as Billy slams his door and starts up the narrow opening between cars sprawled with drinking and smoking metal-heads, toward the venue.

"I thought this place was a country club," he complains, catching up to Billy with half a skip and glancing around them as a boy and a girl their age or younger share the smoke of a joint through the world's sloppiest kiss. They’re both dressed in stylishly tattered jeans and dark shirts, and have nearly identical haircuts.

Billy chuckles with that unique brand of disparaging affection he does so well, and flashes a smirk at Steve over his shoulder.

"I also said Metallica and Armored Saint," he points out.

"Yeah and, what was the other act? W.A.S.P.? Man, my parents are W.A.S.P.s. I dressed for my parents!"

Billy snorts.

"You look good, babe," he says with clear irony. "You definitely look like you could win a couple golf trophies."

Steve rolls his eyes pointedly.

"D'you want my jacket now?" Billy offers, and his smug smile is almost enough to make Steve want to say no again. But before he can answer he catches the tail end of a stare from a pair of girls in tight leather and hairsprayed perms and is distracted.

They turn away as he and Billy pass, but he can still overhear the taller one saying: "--take Blondie for a ride. If he'll ditch his hick cousin..." The other one laughs in agreement and for a second Steve doubts himself. No way they’re talking about him and Billy, right? He’s just being paranoid.

But a glance over his shoulder makes it clear and Steve feels a sudden urge to hit a girl, followed by the burning need to up his game. Not for these bitches, but for Billy. He wants to look at least a little worthy of the magnetic sex appeal of the man he walked in with. At least like he fuckin' tried.

He freezes in his tracks and pulls Billy to a stop with a hand on his shoulder.

"Bill," he says with quiet desperation, probably just too close to his ear for public. "Make me look like your boyfriend."

Billy glances around them and raises an eyebrow curiously.

"In what sense?" he asks with a glance at Steve's lips and a tongue to his own.

Steve pulls away and tries not to look as turned on as the promise of that smile makes him feel. He shakes his head.

"Look at me. We aren't even playing the same game right now. I don't know how to dress for this shit."

Billy smiles and looks away. At first Steve thinks he’s doing that thing where he avoids eye contact when he feels strong emotions, but then he nods in the direction he's looking and heads off, pulling Steve behind him.

"You got money?" he asks.

"Yeah..." Steve follows his gaze up to a pickup truck pulled in front and to the side of the club, where a very hairy man is selling shirts, records, and tapes.

Billy holds out a hand and Steve passes over the cash.

"Stay here," Billy says, his hand just barely brushing Steve's as he passes him on the way toward the man with all the merch.

Steve watches as Billy's dark blonde curls disappear into a small, roiling sea of mullets and perms, and runs a hand through his own hair self-consciously.

\------------

8:10 PM

When Billy returns with a t-shirt and the rest of Steve's money, he pauses for a moment before his boyfriend sees him just to watch. It’s almost a shame to change Steve's look now, out of place as it seems. The preppy shit just is  _Steve_ somehow, and with him standing out as much as he is, it’s like the rest of the world gets to see him like Billy does for just one night.

The center of attention. An unavoidable disturbance of light in an otherwise dark and sleazy world.

Some tweaker with about half a brain cell breaks his reverie then, stumbling through the crowd and offering his boyfriend a handful of colorful pills to choose from with a smile like he’s sharing the goddamn Gospel. Billy strides up quickly and knocks into the asshole like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

The pills tumble to the ground.

"Oh sorry, man, didn't see you there," Billy lies without finesse. "You should pick those up before somebody steals 'em," he suggests.

And just like that the tweaker forgets his anger at Billy and kneels to pick up the pills with a hurry he hadn't looked capable of a moment before.

Steve flashes him a bemused frown as Billy pulls him away.

"What was that about?" he asks, following Billy's lead out of the crowd a bit and around a hippy bus crawling with the burn-out offspring of hippies.

"Nothing," Billy shakes his head, pulling a knife out from his boot and flicking it open. "You shouldn't take drugs from strangers. Don't know what that shit is."

"I wasn't going to take it," Steve points out, and Billy realizes he'd already known that. Steve gives him a look like he’s ready to wait out the real answer, so Billy sighs and gives him a shrug.

"And... I dunno, I just thought we probably shouldn't... partake. Tonight. Get too comfortable in public, far away from home. 'Cause y'know, last time..."

"We couldn't keep our hands off each other," Steve finishes, nodding. "Yeah, you're probably right."

Billy nods, glad Steve doesn't think he’s being a buzzkill or worse. He knows this kind of show isn't exactly Steve's idea of a good weekend, and drugs could've helped that, at least in theory. He turns his knife on the sleeves of the shirt, ripping them and giving it a more flattering cut for Steve's build.

"I'd rather be sober tonight anyway," Steve says, watching him work.

Billy pauses and glances up at him.

"Yeah?" he asks, surprised.

"Yeah," Steve nods as Billy returns to the t-shirt. "We finally get a night out and we're going to a show for the band you don't shut up about. I wanna remember all of this."

Billy smiles a little and flicks his knife closed, stretching the fabric to cover up the jaggedness of the cuts before he holds it up to admire his handiwork.

"Off," he commands of Steve's shirt, and although Steve grimaces at the cold, his Nikes already slightly damp from standing in the couple inches of snow that have collected on the ground, he slips off his jacket, hands it to Billy, and pulls off the polo.

Billy can't stop himself admiring, for the split second that it’s visible, the blush that spreads across Steve's soft, warm skin in the freezing air and the instant hardening of his nipples. He wants to lean in and touch them, kiss them, feel their hardness under his tongue. But he knows better, and then they’re gone, hidden by Steve's new attire.

It’s significantly colder than the shirt he’d been wearing before, but with the addition of Billy's jacket the look is complete and Steve's beautiful but oh so cold arms are brought back up to a temperature somewhere above freezing.

Steve looks so out of character in the t-shirt and the leather jacket that Billy is torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to turn him and fuck him against the van door. Meanwhile, Steve finally seems to realize the shirt he’s wearing.

"W.A.S.P.?" he questions, holding the fabric out to look down at it discerningly. "I thought you'd go for Metallica."

"For me, sure," Billy shrugs with a glint in his eye, sticking his knife back into his boot for safekeeping and fixing the leg of his jeans around it. "But I thought this was more appropriate for someone who came to a heavy metal show wearing a polo."

Steve snorts and readjusts his new shirt.

"Asshole," he mutters, turning to glance at himself in the mirror of the van's driver's side door. He runs a hand through his hair restlessly. "D'you think it's enough?" he asks.

Billy smirks and steps in closer. Pulls Steve's hand away and replaces it with his own, carefully working through his hair and resisting the urge to just play with it.

"You look great," he lies only slightly. "Definitely look like my bitch." He smirks and slides a hand around Steve’s ass. "That's what you wanted, right, Harrington?" he asks.

Steve's lips curl up into a meaningful little smile but he doesn't answer. Somehow that makes Billy want him even more.

"All right, let's go see if the opening act has started yet."

Billy brushes his hand across Steve's jaw as he passes him, and trails it across his lips. He swears he feels Steve kiss it.

\------------

8:20 PM

The club is _small_. Steve isn't sure what he'd expected, but this place is downright _intimate_.

"INDIANA! HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU?"

The crowd goes wild and Steve adds to his characterization of the place: _loud._ Billy glances at him like he knows what he’s thinking and is somewhere between laughter and concern at it. Steve gives him a shove and a smile. _Fuck you, I'm fine._

"I DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU, BUT I CAME HERE TONIGHT TO KICK SOME FUCKING ASS, WHAT D’YOU SAY?"

The crowd around them cheers louder at that, and this time Billy joins. Steve smiles and lets him take his hand in the dark between closely pressed bodies, leading him around the back of the crowd and a little bit closer to the stage.

"Is this Metallica?" Steve shouts over the preamble to the next song, and Billy laughs soundlessly.

"No, this is _your_ band.” He points back toward Steve’s shirt as they navigate around a stubborn group of stoners. “They're pretty good too. I saw them back in California a few times," he explains, loud but only just audible against Steve's ear.

"We're not moving closer?" Steve questions when Billy finally stops them, still only a couple rows from the back. Billy shakes his head.

"Saving our strength," he explains. Hearing him is more a matter of lip-reading now than it is of voice. "No way do you have the stamina to be in the pit all night, princess, and neither do I."

Steve prickles at the hit on his stamina, but recognizes it for sense and honestly isn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. If it’s this loud in the back, he can only imagine the hearing damage the people closer to the stage are experiencing.

Now that they know where they’re standing, Steve lets go of Billy's hand and the two of them pull apart slightly. Keeping a safe, heterosexual distance that the slightly more open space of this corner of the club allows. Billy mouths along with the words, tapping his foot, and by the second verse he’s belting along.

"All night, you damn the hurt and pain / And drink the devil's rain / It's screaming out your name," he shouts, and Steve swears he does it better than the frontman of the actual band.

As Billy turns glittering eyes on him, continuing to sing along, Steve grins and quietly rocks out to his own private show. He can hardly hear Billy's voice, but he's heard him sing enough before to pick out bits of it from the clamor of amplification and crowd swirling around them. The voice of a rock angel. _My rock angel_ , Steve thinks with a swell of pride.

Billy turns back away as someone tries to pass them, and for a moment Steve is left there alone. He turns toward the stage and tries to get involved with the music, but the song ends then and the lights go out all but completely. Bodies press against him in the dark, as the audience surges forward. Not unrelenting this far back, but easier just to follow than to resist. The squeal of tortured guitars and feedback fuels the fire of the crowd, and Steve can't help but wonder how far he's been pushed away from Billy now.

When the lights come up again, he glances back at where he'd been and over the crowd between. It takes a while with the pulse of bodies being what it is, but finally he catches the flash of dirty blonde curls and half-exposed chest that is his boyfriend, closer than he'd worried but still not close enough.

 _You okay?_ Billy mouths at him, his eyes already on Steve's and just as surprised by the distance.

Steve nods and waves a hand. _You stay there. I'll come to you._

It takes almost the rest of the song for Steve to get back to Billy, trapped as he is in the press, but once he’s within arm's reach Billy pulls him the last few feet and slips a hand in his, not caring so much now if someone notices as long as they don't get separated again.

"Welcome back," he smirks as he pulls him close, his breath warm against Steve's cheek.

"Missed you," Steve smiles back, turning his eyes to the stage.

They keep holding hands, below where the light from the half-distant stage can reach, until their palms are sweaty and their attempts to move with the crowd and the music are being hindered by the connection to the point of inconvenience.

It’s several songs, even then, before they let go, but they still remain close; Billy's hip knocking into Steve's on every other move and Steve doing nothing to stop it as he also moves a bit with the music. He’s starting to be able to hear it as something beyond senseless noise, and although the lyrics are still mostly indistinguishable Steve has to admit it’s pretty good.

He doesn't realize how long W.A.S.P. has been playing until the frontman leans into the mic between songs and says they only have a couple left. He’s surprised at how disappointed he is by that.

"BUT I WANNA KNOW A COUPLE THINGS BEFORE WE GO," the singer demands of his groaning and shouting audience. "I WANNA KNOW HOW MANY OF YOU COME HERE TONIGHT LOOKIN’... FOR A LITTLE… _PUSSAY!!"_

Billy and Steve turn knowing grins on each other and cheer facetiously along with the howling crowd. Steve goes to hold up devil horns but gets the fingers wrong and holds up the love sign instead. Close enough.

"I KNOW THE FEELING," their puppet master says, bringing his own fists back down to the microphone. "WHEN I LOOK INTO THIS AUDIENCE," he says conspiratorially, "I SEE _ALL_ THESE _DYNAMITE_ LOOKIN’ LADIES..."

Steve gives Billy a heated once-over and a wink that clearly states he’s the only dynamite lookin' lady _he_ sees, and Billy laughs and eyes him back with a flick of his tongue across parted lips.

"...AND I WANNA KNOW! HOW MANY OF YOU HERE DO IT THE WAY _I_ DO IT," is the battle cry from the stage. The crowd roars. "HOW MANY OF YOU HERE _FUCK LIKE A BEAST!"_

Billy pulls his shirt open the rest of the way and hollers, raising his arms in the air. Steve can't decide between second-hand embarrassment and well-earned arousal.

"WELL, IF YOU FUCK LIKE A BEAST, YOU MUST BE AN _ANIMAL_."

Guitar blares and the next song begins, and for a moment Steve loses himself in the music. He likes this one. But he's just turned to dance to a bit of the chorus with Billy when his enjoyment falters.

She isn't particularly pretty in this crowd, but she’s at least a Hawkins 8. Teased brown hair and a tight outfit, and hands that rest with purpose on Billy's bicep and his waist. Steve’s eyes linger unshakably on those points of contact.

He's never considered himself a particularly jealous person, but as Billy not only doesn't push her away but grins and thrusts back into her dance with style and confidence and endless sex appeal, Steve has to force himself not to cross the small distance between them and rip the girl off his boyfriend.

Caught between disappointment, loneliness, and humiliation, he forces himself to turn away and focus on the music drowning his ears. _Not here_ , he reminds himself. _We're not a couple in public anyway. He can do what he wants. Don't ruin Billy's night just 'cause you're feeling a little left out_.

By the second repetition of the chorus, Steve is shouting along: "I come around, round / I come feel your love! / Tie you down, down / I come steal your love!" and pushing into the crowd ahead of him just a little. He needs to feel the oppressive heat of it and the press of anonymous bodies against his own, and as the rhythm affects him he finds himself dancing along without self-consciousness.

The song is nearly over by the time he feels a pair of arms envelop him from behind and instantly tenses. He recognizes them as Billy's without effort, but that doesn't make him feel any more comfortable in them. He’s still angry.

"I wondered where you'd got to." Billy's breath is hot against his ear.

Steve turns his head in the other direction to glance back at where Billy had just been dancing, but the girl is long gone.

"Hey, you all right?"

"Fine." Steve shrugs and turns to speak more _at_ Billy than _to_ him. "I was just under the impression I was your date here. Whatever, man."

"Steve... _"_ Billy groans, pulling him closer with an arm low around his waist where no one can see. "You _are_."

"Then why are you dancing with _her?"_

Steve finally meets Billy's eyes and he can feel how desperate he looks but he doesn't care. _It’s too dark for Billy to see anyway, right?_ He doesn't know if he hopes for that or not.

"I like to dance and she wanted to dance!" Billy sounds a little wrecked too. Or maybe that’s just Steve's imagination. "But it didn't mean shit, baby. I promise." He pulls Steve closer into his arms and rolls his hips slow against Steve’s ass with intention.

Steve shivers in spite of himself. He never thought he'd find his partner's _lack_ of arousal intoxicating, but here he is.

"I'd much rather dance with you, Harrington," Billy purrs against his ear.

Steve groans and turns around in his arms, leaving them dangerously close even in the dark of the crowd.

As guitars blare into feedback and the crowd around them cheers, Steve finds himself physically struggling not to lean in and just take Billy's soft lips in his own. But he knows the hell that would break loose if he gave in. So instead he says the first thing that comes to mind as he holds onto the back of Billy's sweat-soaked shirt and gazes down at his slightly-parted lips.

"I love you."

"INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA! WE'LL SEE YOU NEXT TIME!"

His voice is soft, not telling so much as musing, and even over the regular noise of the show, it would have been hard to hear. But when the band yells goodnight and the audience responds in kind, he is completely drowned out. In the half a heartbeat after the words leave his lips he doesn't know what to hope for. Does he want Billy to know that? Is it too soon?

But when Steve glances up from his lips he instantly knows Billy heard him. His blue eyes are wide with shock and his lips parted in surprise, and his beautiful brow is slightly furrowed in... What is that? Disbelief? Concern?

The lights come suddenly up, and Billy jumps away like he's been shocked, no longer safe in their lightless anonymity. Steve steps back too, and a couple immediately presses past between them. As the last of the feedback clears away the crowd begins to move with a slow sort of chaos as people leave for drinks or drugs or bathrooms.

Steve moves out of the way for another group passing between him and Billy but doesn't think of behind him and suddenly _SMACK,_  he collides directly with a guy about half a foot taller than him and twice as leather-clad.

"Watch it." He glowers and Steve shrinks back a little without meaning to.

"Shit. Sorry, man," he says easily. "Didn't see you."

"Yeah, well look next time."

Suddenly, Steve feels himself pushed to the side and Billy is there looking meaner than he's seen him in a long time. He steps hard between Steve and the guy and pushes Steve very slightly behind him.

"He said he’s sorry, _pendejo_ _._ Step off him or I won't be so forgiving," he nearly growls. Steve is too shocked to move, but the asshole just grins slowly down at them, revealing a set of the ugliest teeth Steve has ever seen.

"Come on then, man," he invites. "I'm itchin' for a fight."

And from the look of the crowd around them, which Steve slowly realizes is moving out to form a sort of ring around the three of them, they are too. _Fuck._

"Billy, I'm fine," Steve says, putting a hand on his arm to pull him away. "Leave it."

But Billy hardly acknowledges him, and the crowd is growing more expectant. The asshole’s friends are closing in.

"Don't leave it, _Billy,_ " he smiles wide, posturing. "Let's do it. Or are you a pussy after all?"

Steve's fingers tighten on the arm he's holding and he slips his other hand around Billy's waist.

"We'll get kicked out, dumbass," he intones, pulling Billy backward. "Before you even get to see your band. It's not fucking worth it. Come on."

Finally, Billy seems to lower his hackles slightly and allows Steve to pull him away, still glowering. Steve leads him through the crowd, holding his hand tight and cutting through the swirling throng of sweaty metal-heads like a pro. When they finally hit bedrock a few rows from the front, Billy turns to him and frowns.

"What?" he asks.

Steve realizes then that he’s grinning, and lets out a laugh.

"You looked like you were gonna kill him," he says. And when that doesn't seem to register as funny to Billy, he elaborates: "Nobody's ever gone to bat like that for me. It was kinda... nice..." he smiles. "Even if it _was_ completely stupid and pointless..."

Billy laughs and rolls his eyes.

"Shut up."

"But it was sexy too," Steve admits in an undertone.

Billy flicks him an appraising look.

"You like being defended, princess?" he asks, but it only sounds _half_ mocking.

Steve gives him a shove anyway, trying and failing to hide a smile that as good as answers that question itself.

"Not that I can't take care of myself, I'd just rather someone else take the hits for me!"

Billy laughs.

"Sure you can, sweetheart. You just lost to me, and to Jonny Byers, and to Byers again… 'Cause you're… What? A gentleman?"

Steve frowns and has to remind himself that yeah, according to the rest of the town those injuries he'd sustained in his first encounter with the Upside Down had been from Jonathan. He hadn't thought about it at the time, but thinking back now he wishes he'd come up with a cooler story for them than that. Like… he’d got in a tussle with some particularly tricky stairs.

"I snuck a flask in," Billy says, leaning against him subtly in the crowd and sneaking an arm around his waist. "Want some?"

"I thought we were staying clear-headed," Steve frowns as Billy's fingers duck into the pocket of his jacket, which Steve is still wearing.

"We are. It's just beer. Surely the former king of the kegstand can handle less than a can's worth without losing his faculties though, right?"

Steve takes the flask from him and downs a quarter of it in one swig, keeping his eyes on Billy all the time. He only stops when his grin at how distracted Billy is, watching him swallow, gets in the way of his drinking.

"Take a picture," he says wryly, handing the flask back as he wipes his lips with the back of his hand. "Lasts longer."

A couple of girls press into them as they move around closer to the front, and Billy bites his tongue on what was sure to be an overtly sexual response, instead taking his own quick swig.

Suddenly, the lights go dramatically down and the crowd around them pulses forward with a cheer. Steve almost loses his footing, but Billy catches him by the waist and plants himself firmly behind his boyfriend, creating a bit of a barrier between him and the rest of the crowd. Steve can't help but smile and settle into it even as he joins the rest of the audience in a frenzied cheer.

Before the lights come back up, music pouring from the speakers begins to slowly build up to something Steve knows he's heard before but can't quite place. From a movie maybe?

He turns around in Billy's arms with a questioning frown, and Billy answers before he can even ask.

"Ennio Morricone. _The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly."_

Steve grins.

"Like, Clint Eastwood and Lee Van Cleef? I saw that when I was a kid!"

Billy smiles back with a _you're cute when you think you're cultured_ shake of his head.

"Yeah, baby. We all did."

The lights come back up fully to reveal the band on stage, and the crowd goes wild including Billy, pressing forward to close the distance between them and their heroes. Steve cheers too when the guitars hit the ground running with a beat so driving he can't help but move to it. He finds himself a little gobsmacked by the speed of it all, and suddenly he _gets_ why Billy likes this stuff so much. It's _infectious_.

On the other hand, it doesn't take long for Steve to understand why Billy didn't bring them to the front of the crowd from the start. Although they're close enough to the stage that they're not getting the brunt of it, a pit is already beginning to form just behind them and every couple seconds Billy is pushed hard into him despite his best efforts to stand firm.

If Steve glances back for a second it looks almost like a fight or a battle, except that no one's really trying to hurt each other. They're just colliding and pushing and shoving, feeling the thrill of being a mindlessly social beast for just a moment.

Steve is surprised by how torn he is between definitely not wanting to get caught in it and wanting to give it a try. Billy, meanwhile, is quickly removing his earring and sneaking it into Steve's front pocket.

"Just in case," he hollers, and Steve nods, taking his hand for a moment before he has to return it to the back of the person in front of him, who's seemingly doing all she can to fling her hair into his face.

"INDIANAPOLIIS!! RIIDE THE LIGHTNIING!!"

A particularly strong push from the crowd as the next song begins pushes them past the row of people they were behind and straight into the guardrail in front of the stage. Steve clings to it with a manic laugh and cheers too, tossing his hair along with the hypnotic beat.

He feels Billy separate from him a little, but doesn't think much of it. With him moving too, they can only be so close before they risk injury. Seconds later, though, in a slower part of the song, Billy returns his lips to Steve's left ear.

"Don't go anywhere," he commands by way of promise, and with a squeeze of his hip, he disappears into the pit.

Steve turns back to the stage, only glancing over his shoulder a couple times, but every time he finds him it's only for a second before Billy’s gone again. So he lets the music distract him. Stares up at the already heavily sweating men on stage with their perfectly show-stopping hair and their fingers moving so fast he can hardly keep up.

Billy has told him a little about the band before, so he's heard the names, but he can't remember who's who now except that it's clear Billy's look is heavily inspired by the singer. Steve doesn't think it's just his bias talking when he thinks that Billy wears it better.

Instead, his eyes travel over to the guitarist nearest him, whose dark hair is made more hypnotic by its furious curliness and the sort of possessed nature of his movements with the music. The others are shaking their hair to shake their hair. This guy looks like the mere act of playing is almost getting him off.

They move to a different song and almost immediately his fingers are moving at lightning speeds across his guitar. Steve is transfixed and utterly driven by the music now, banging his head with the rest of them. He doesn't even think about where Billy's gone off to until the song ends, the crowd cheers, and the frontman points into the audience with a grin.

"ALL RIGHT, WE'VE GOT SOME FUCKING _LUNATICS_ UP IN THE FRONT, DON'T WE?" he hollers.

Steve glances back and is only half surprised to see Billy in the center of the pit with a couple other guys, shirtless and screaming like an animal high off the kill.

That shouldn't go straight to his dick, but it does.

"WE'RE GONNA TURN IT OVER TO MISTER CLIFF BURTON ON THE BASS SO LET HIM KNOW YOU'RE ALL THERE, COME ON!!"

Billy glances over straight at Steve and the hunger in his gaze sends a shiver down his spine. He quickly turns back to the stage to cheer for Cliff, who appears to be the one on the far side. And if Steve thought the dark-haired guitarist's fingers were talented...

Steve feels a hand on his shoulder and glances back to see Billy pressed between a row of disgruntled metal-heads who refuse to give up their front-stage spots for him, nodding toward the back. Steve leaves his spot immediately, taking the hand and following Billy away as their space is filled quickly behind them.

Billy leads to something like the side of the middle, where there's still enough dark and pressing crowd to hide their closeness, and presses instantly into Steve's back, momentarily ducking his head into the hair at his neck and breathing deep.

"You look so good, baby," he growls, and Steve can tell already Billy's voice is going to be destroyed tomorrow. He can't wait. "Up there all excited. And you still smell like Farrah even in all of this," he laughs, failing at derisive. "Fuck."

Steve hasn't stopped moving to the music since they started traveling through the crowd, and as Billy leans into his back, and Cliff Burton's fingers continue to pull driving rhythms from the bass, Steve rolls his hips to the music and pulls his boyfriend close.

Billy groans and slips a hand up under Steve's shirt, splaying it across his flat abs hungrily as he moves too. This is dangerous. They're close enough to at least four strangers that at any moment they could be revealed and God knows what would happen then.

But Steve doesn't think like that. Never has. In his relationship with Nancy, it was she who kept them from fucking in the bathroom stall during her TA period. Steve's version of self-control is to resist the urge to turn around and touch every inch of the exposed and sweaty chest that's pressed and heaving against his back right now. And, frankly, the fact he’s able to even do _that_ is amazing.

So instead he fits his hand over Billy's and continues staring up at the stage unseeingly, grateful that the pace of this song allows them to pretend they’re dancing as Billy rocks slowly into his ass, dragging his fingers temptingly along the growing bulge in the front of Steve’s jeans. Steve is coming to realize that he really _really_ likes Metallica.

As the rest of the band joins back in for the next song, this one even _better_ for their purposes, Steve flashes back to a conversation he and Billy had had about early sexual experiences and how Billy claimed there were songs that somehow _felt_ like sex, songs he’d discovered himself through. Steve hadn’t believed him at the time but now, as the bass shakes his bones into awareness and he moves desperately against Billy’s arms, he understands.

Somebody bumps into his front and for a heartstopping moment he thinks they must’ve felt his arousal pressing into their back, but they don’t turn around. Still, Steve’s heart is in his throat and he pushes Billy away with a groan. _We can’t do this here._ He reminds himself, glancing around to make sure they haven’t been spotted. _After. The Camaro. We’ll do everything. But not here._

Billy reluctantly comes out from behind him, and Steve slides a hand around his waist, looping it through his belt loops and holding him close to assure him Steve isn’t done with him by far. From the shudder of his chest as Steve jerks him to his side, Billy gets the message. He flings himself into the music again, but Steve can see the glimmer in his eyes whenever he comes up for air.

When the next song starts, slow and keening, Steve feels another shiver. That guitarist is the only one he can see from this angle, but he spends the rest of the song, a nearly ten minute series of guitar solos, just staring at him. Halfway through he gets so caught up in jealousy at the amount of skill there that, unbidden, thoughts of his own lack of any meaningful skills come to the front of his brain and he grimaces and pulls Billy’s flask from his pocket.

When he takes his hand back from Billy to drink, his boyfriend glances over and smiles. But Steve finishes it off with a wink before sliding it back into the pocket. Billy looks less displeased than he maybe ought to, and simply wipes a drop from Steve’s chin before licking his finger.

Steve shakes his head with an inaudible laugh and tosses his hair as the crowd surges to the cascade of a new, driving beat. Billy licks his lips and watches, so Steve gets into it further, putting on a bit of a show of being as metal as he can. He thinks he hears or maybe feels the air from Billy’s chuckle at his attempt, but stubbornly ignores it and presses on.

Before long Billy’s going at it again beside him and their hands have found each other once more. The beer isn’t much, but combined with the heat and the movement and the noise it helps to turn Steve’s wandering mind down enough to lose himself in the beat and the thrill of the music and before he knows it the singer is screaming about seeing them next time, and Steve’s ears are ringing with sudden, painful silence. He turns to Billy.

“Is that it?” he says, and he’s not used to being able to hear his own voice, so it sounds oddly muted to his tortured ears.

Billy laughs and puts an arm around his back just high enough to be heterosexual.

“Yeah, babe, that was it.”

Steve bites his lip and leans briefly in to ask against his ear:

“Does that mean we can go fuck now?”

Billy swallows and carefully schools his own eager smile into a douchey smirk.

“That is _exactly_ what it means,” he says and slips his hand down to Steve’s as he turns half away to follow the flow of the crowd toward the door.

Steve falls into step behind him, staring for a beautiful moment at his boyfriend’s bare and dewy back before he stops short and frowns.

“Wait, Billy, where’s your shirt?” he questions, glancing around. Of course, it’s not visible above the heads of the crowd. “You’re gonna freeze out there. It’s like 20 degrees. Probably snowing again for fuck’s sake.”

Billy rolls his eyes and tugs him forward.

“I run hot. You know that,” he says. And when Steve continues looking worried, he shakes his head and smiles, squeezing his hand. “I’ll be fine ‘til we get to the car.”

Steve pulls away and starts to take off the leather jacket Billy loaned him, but his boyfriend stops him quickly.

“What, are you gonna loan me back my own jacket?” he asks. “Don’t you dare, Harrington. You’re hot enough in that for the both of us.”

He eyes him up like he wants to swallow him whole and Steve feels a flush in his cheeks. But they’re nearing the door now, and Steve is not gonna just let Billy walk out into the Indiana cold half-naked. Thinking fast, he pushes Billy out of the flow of foot traffic just before the door and nails him there with a look.

“Stay put,” he says. “I’m gonna go get you something.”

\------------

11:00 PM

Billy rolls his eyes but pulls the pack of smokes out of his jacket pocket and allows Steve to leave him alone while he lights up and tosses the empty carton away, slipping his zippo into the front of his jeans. His head is humming with the pleasant dizziness, not unlike being buzzed on alcohol, that comes from headbanging for hours. His blood is on fire with the knowledge that by the end of the gig he almost got Steve into the mosh pit as well, and _liking_ it.

 _King Steve comes out to play again,_ he thinks to himself, forcing his quirked lips to take the cigarette between them again for appearance’s sake. _God, I’m gonna fuck him silly._

“Hey, man, can I bum a cig?”

Billy looks up through his lashes to see one of the guys he remembers from the pit and shakes his head, showing empty hands with false regret.

“Sorry, _amigo. Yo no tengo más,”_ he says, daring the guy to pretend he understands.

He glances up and sees Steve returning, careful through the thinning crowd. He’s practically swimming in that jacket but God does it suit him anyway.

Billy turns back to the mosher and smiles.

“You can have this one though,” he offers, holding it out as he blows smoke through his mouth and nose like a dragon. “I don’t need it anymore.”

The guy looks doubtful as he takes the almost entirely un-smoked cigarette from Billy’s fingers, but smiles slowly anyway and takes a drag.

“Thanks, man,” he says, but Billy’s already walking away.

He meets up with Steve just as he pushes through the crowd, and Steve instantly pulls him into a corner with that strength he hides in the delicate way he stands and the softness of his eyes. Billy _doesn’t_ have to hold back a groan.

“I wanted to get you something else too, not just for practical reasons. So…” Steve turns and Billy sees what’s under his arm. The glint of light on the clear plastic sleeve isn’t enough to obscure it. _Ride the Lightning._  Metallica.

“You bought me a record?” Damn the choked-up sound of his voice. It was that damn cigarette. Billy coughs and rubs his jaw to kill the soft smile threatening there.

“I bought you _two_ ,” Steve corrects and blushes a little, shrugging. “Thought you might have the Metallica one already…”

He pulls a second sleeve from behind the first one, clumsily. There are so many things in his arms. The other record is W.A.S.P.

Billy’s eyes are stinging a little and he glances up at Steve with disbelief. How did he land a guy like this? _And he said he_ loves _me,_ a little voice in his mind reminds him wistfully. There’s no way he deserves this.

“You--” Billy clears his throat again. “You shouldn’t waste your money like that,” he chides.

Steve smirks and gives Billy a look like he’s _everything._

“It’s not wasting, Billy,” he argues. “I fully expect you to make me a mixtape with these as soon as I buy you a new cassette recorder.”

Billy thinks he actually feels himself blush at that. _Jesus_. He shivers slightly, the cold from the door finally getting to him, and tries to hide it because _one embarrassment at a time, please_. But Steve sees it happen and immediately pulls out a big black monstrosity from under the records.

“What is that?” Billy asks, eyebrows raising at what Steve apparently thinks passes for something Billy would be caught _dead_ in.

“A sweatshirt,” Steve smirks, and _oh that asshole_. He didn’t think it’d suit Billy at all. “Because it _is_ snowing again, and I don’t want you freezing off anything important.”

His wink is raunchier than anything the Steve Billy started dating months ago would have ever been capable of. _I’ve really corrupted him, haven’t I,_  Billy muses affectionately, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not wearing it,” he says. He has principles, after all, and not looking like a fool is number one.

Steve rolls his eyes.

“I thought you might say that,” he sighs. And then: “all right, give me your knife.”

Billy frowns but hands over the knife from his boot, and Steve trades him the records and gets to work. He turns away just enough that Billy is forced to turn his attention to the records while he waits, stroking their brand new varnish and shaking his head at the thought that they’re actually _his._

He’s got plenty of records, but most of them were bargains or thefts. Never anything this blatantly _worth something._ Billy fights down the urge to remind himself why he keeps expensive looking things out of the house and just lets himself bask in the moment and the thought that Steve spent all this money on him.

“Okay. That should do it.”

Steve takes back the records and hands him the newly redesigned shirt with a devilish smile that Billy distrusts a little before he looks down at it and his eyebrows fly up as he laughs.

“A crop top?” he asks. “I thought you were gonna cut off the sleeves like I did on yours.”

Steve smiles coyly.

“I told you,” he reminds him, glancing down Billy’s arms to his hands. “No freezing off anything important.”

Billy pulls on the shirt and flips his hair out of the collar.

“What, my belly ain’t important to you?” he mock complains, and he can see Steve visibly hold himself back from leaning in and showing him then and there just how important it is to him. Instead, he holds the records out for Billy to take and nods towards the door.

“Ask me that again when we’re back in the Camaro,” he invites.

Billy shivers and this time it’s only a little bit from the cold.

\------------

11:30 PM

They can’t just fuck in the parking lot. Even half an hour after the concert’s done the place is still crawling with just as many metal-heads as when they got there. _Tailgating_ , Billy calls it. And for a moment Steve considers suggesting they join in. He wants to get the full experience, after all.

But then he glances back at the way that sweatshirt hugs every curve of his boyfriend’s biceps, and down to his bare abs, bright in the darkness and so deliciously tapered under the wide cut of the shirt. _No,_ he thinks. _I don’t want to pretend to be straight for one second more than I have to._

“Let’s get out of here, then,” he says, and the Camaro’s engine roars to life and revs before Billy peels out and onto the road.

Billy drives them for a while, aimless, an eye out for some dark parking lot or turning where they can stop the car for an hour, a couple hours, the night. They’re just starting to get into a promising neck of the woods when he moves his right hand a little up on Steve’s thigh, where it’s been sitting since they left the club, and moves his thumb in a teasing circle.

Steve smiles at the affection of the touch but says nothing. Suspects impatience. Nothing out of the ordinary for his boyfriend. But then the hand moves further up. Cups his groin and strokes him with the kind of purpose that’s almost embarrassingly forward.

Certainly when you’re on the receiving end and feel yourself immediately begin to harden.

Steve shifts a little and breathes deep.

“Bill…”

“Hm?” Billy’s voice is unworried. Unhurried. Almost unaware of what he’s doing. But he’s not. As he glances over at Steve his hand moves once again up the length of the bulge in those too-tight jeans and Steve feels himself shudder. “Something wrong, baby?”

He almost sounds concerned, the asshole. But not quite.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks.

Billy smiles at the road.

“Only what you’ve been doing to me all night,” he says, reaching down between Steve’s legs to give his balls a feel as he takes a left turn without waiting for the light and with a little too much speed for comfort.

“What do you mean?” Steve’s voice is higher than he intended, but he’s rapidly getting to the point where he doesn’t care.

Billy flicks the button on Steve’s jeans open and slides the zipper down without having to look.

“Moving your hips like that… against me… on your own…” he groans and Steve can’t tell if it’s from the memory or the feel of his half-hard cock against his palm. “Making the music I’ve listened to alone for so long into your fucking _own_ … Fuck, Harrington, I wanted to touch you like this all fucking night…”

Steve makes the mistake of glancing down at the hand on him just as it snakes into his boxers and slides him out to palm him roughly. He lets out a low whimper and closes his eyes tight. _This should not be as hot as it is._

“Billy, please...” He shudders, pressing into the hand now in spite of himself. “Pull over, come on.”

The slight smile on his boyfriend’s lips is the only indication he hears the pleas at all as his hand keeps working Steve’s erection slowly and torturously, and he continues to speed on down the road. They’ve been in farm country for a while now. Could pull over anywhere and be undisturbed for hours. But Billy keeps on driving.

“And the things that came out of your mouth tonight, Steve…” he muses, sighing. “When you said ‘make me look like your boyfriend’ I thought I’d lose it right there,” he confesses, turning an almost scolding look on him, and Steve feels himself slip closer to the edge.

“Fuck, Billy, please,” he begs. “I can’t--”

“Or that other thing you said,” Billy says, staring ahead at the road with eyes Steve can tell aren’t remotely focused on lanes or road-signs.

Billy glances over at him again and this time holds it until Steve breaks the contact to watch the road himself, worried. He needn’t be. Billy hasn’t had an accident in the ten years he’s been driving. But something about sharing eye contact like that at 70 mph has Steve shivering almost as much as the thumb at the head of his weeping cock.

“That thing you said, that you thought I didn’t hear…” Billy elaborates, and Steve knows exactly what he’s talking about but is afraid to acknowledge it. What if this is all Billy’s cruel way of making him feel like an idiot for it? He would do something like that, wouldn’t he? Billy drops his hand to the base of Steve’s cock and squeezes tight, making Steve’s thighs shake hard.

“Jesus, Billy--” he gasps, clutching at the sides of his seat.

Billy turns his cool blue eyes back on him forcefully and stops his hand there.

“Say it again,” he demands.

Steve frowns, whimpering a little, and closes his eyes. He can’t do this. Can’t do any of this. _What is even happening right now?_

“ _Harrington_ ,” Billy coaxes in that cold, mocking voice that he used to use so much when they were just starting out. The one Steve could never resist. “Say it again.”

Steve is actually crying now, and he can’t tell for the life of him whether it’s good or bad crying, but he opens his eyes and looks Billy in the mouth again just like he did the first time the words came from his lips. This time his voice is over-loud with vulnerability. This time Billy will have to respond.

“I love you,” he groans, and shudders at the return of movement on his swollen cock. He meets Billy’s eyes and sees what he was afraid to hope for. Sees it all and doesn’t care that another tear falls as he sobs out again: “I love you. I love you, I love you, fuck-- Bill…”

Billy’s lips collide with his and the hand on his cock speeds up almost painfully, throwing him over the edge before he even knows he’s nearing it with one last heaving shudder and a groan that Billy shares.

They’re still driving though, and when Billy finally pulls his lips away, stroking him through the last of it and licking his thumb, the car has drifted somewhat.

Steve looks down at his soiled clothing and slouches into the leather seat bonelessly.

“Why…” he starts slowly, struggling to collect his scattered thoughts. “Why did you let me come?” he asks, frowning.

Billy eases them off onto the dirt shoulder of the road, flicks the gear shift into park and kills the engine. When he turns to Steve, his eyes are on his lips and the arms he’d bared by taking off Billy’s jacket when they first got in the car.

“Because I want you to last nice and long inside of me when I slick you up and ride you,” he purrs, licking his bottom lip and smirking just a little and _Jesus_ , Steve’s cock is already perking up again at that.

He leans over the gap between their seats and pulls Billy’s mouth into his desperately.

Billy chuckles and moans into it, and their tongues play over each other with slow, sloppy sweetness. He can hear Billy’s boots dropping to the ground as he toes them off and begins to work himself out of his jeans.

Only then does Steve let him go and return his hands to his own ruined clothes, stripping his bottom half as quick as he can but leaving the shirt on for the limited warmth it provides. Outside the car, it’s starting to snow again. Not enough to be dangerous, but enough to be fucking cold.

“Reach into the glovebox, will ya?” Billy prompts as he strips with a little more difficulty than Steve. Tight jeans and a steering wheel in the way. Steve doesn’t mind the view at all though, Billy’s tented briefs moving threateningly with every wiggle of his hips. “I’ve got stuff in there,” he explains.

Steve frowns a little, wanting to ask the question but afraid of the answer to it. Billy laughs at him though, and his smile is soft and honest.

“It’s for us,” he assures him. “I wouldn’t fuck just anybody in Baby. And,” he looks away, a little self-conscious. “I haven’t gotten off with anyone else since I met you anyway.”

Steve doesn’t have any shame left. Not after he came chanting “I love you” while Billy jacked him off one-handed. But still, he hopes to God it doesn’t show on his face just how much that thought means to him. He pulls a condom and lube out of the glovebox and slams it shut.

"What about Vicky Marsden?" he asks, glancing over casually.

Billy grimaces.

"A low point," he admits as he kicks his jeans the rest of the way off. "I may have had to go down on her for 20 minutes just to hide the fact I didn't even get hard."

Steve's eyebrows shoot up with curiosity.

"Not at all?" he asks.

Billy shrugs.

"I’d already seen you in the showers by then. That cunt wasn’t gonna do nothin’ for me," he says lazily, pushing Steve back into the seat and climbing over to straddle his thighs.

Steve chokes as Billy abruptly drops the seat back with a twist of the lever, and settles more comfortably onto his lap. He clutches at Billy's narrow hips, just under the hem of the cropped sweatshirt, and smooths his thumbs over the jutting muscle of them with a sigh.

"You need to wear this again when we get home, babe," he groans.

"Do I?" Billy takes the lube from Steve and coats two fingers with it.

"Yeah," Steve says, watching closely. Billy reaches behind himself, and Steve can see the moment he presses his fingers inside by the pace of his breaths. "I want you to wear it for me when we're lit by something other than the moon and your interiors. Want to fuck you in front of the mirror so you can see how hot you are in it..."

Billy groans and angles himself a little closer. Steve can tell he’s added another finger by the tension in his half-exposed belly. Steve’s mouth is positively watering.

“Baby,” he says, nudging Billy’s shoulders down so he’s pressed in close. He kisses him once, twice, then tugs him up further. “Climb up a little.”

Billy gives him a curious smile but lets Steve manhandle him up until his belly and his bobbing cock are even with Steve’s face, his arms braced on the headrest of the reclined seat. Steve hums and flicks open the lube, coating his own fingers as he pulls Billy’s cock to his lips with his free other hand.

“Mm you look so good like that,” Billy sighs with a hitch as Steve mouths at the head teasingly.

Steve slips his hand down over his own cock, slicking it up, and takes Billy into his mouth simultaneously. They both choke out moans as he runs his tongue up the underside of Billy’s length. But it doesn’t last long. He wants Billy to ride him, after all, so he can’t give him too much now. Instead, he turns his slick fingers to Billy’s ass and presses them in quick and thoughtless while he moves up to press gentle kisses into his boyfriend’s half-exposed abdomen.

Billy moans and leans into the touches, dragging his cock needily against Steve’s chest for the need of friction. Steve smiles against him and licks at the shuddering skin, between muscles that twitch at his touch, and moans too.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mutters into him, finally slipping his fingers out of Billy’s hole with a slick sound and biting his hip. “Looked so good in the crowd, all loose and wild,” he groans. Billy allows Steve to pull him back down so they’re almost face to face, and settles back into his lap obediently. “I wanted you just like this.”

He runs his fingers down and back up Billy’s tight, perfect thighs, and reaches between them for his cock. Billy kneels up while he slips the condom on, and watches him with hungry eyes until the very moment Steve’s fingers are out of the way. Then he takes a seat.

“Oh fuck,” he groans, his head tilting back as much as it can in the limited space of a low ceiling, and his fingers dig into Steve’s bare arms needily.

Steve watches him with awe and just allows Billy to move for them both for a while, getting used to the stretch he likes to complain Steve’s cock is the first to give him. He looks so good like this. Legs spread and arms threatening to break the fabric of the shirt that confines them. His own cock red and bobbing between them with every thrust as he fucks himself on Steve. It gives Steve an idea.

“Mm Bill,” he sighs, working to stay calm and even as he watches his boyfriend’s hips move. “You said I looked like your bitch tonight, but I’m glad you know where we really stand, baby.”

Above him, his boyfriend shudders and clutches onto him harder with one hand, the other moving to the seat beside Steve’s head so he can lean in and take his mouth.

They kiss hard and wet and fleeting before Steve is pushing him back up so he can continue, punctuating the movement with a little jerk of his hips. He feels a grin at the shocked little sound that pulls from Billy.

“So greedy for it, aren’t you?” he says, encouraging Billy to take a faster rhythm with his hand on his hip. “You can’t get enough.”

Billy’s cock twitches between them and a bead of pre-come joins the sticky mess already on Steve’s shirt from his earlier orgasm.

“Fuck, _Steve,”_ he grunts, leaning in now for better leverage. Steve puts a hand on the back of his head half to protect it from the ceiling and half just to hold him.

“I can give you more,” he offers. Billy groans and nods without even asking what he means. “If you do something for me first,” he finishes.

Billy keens and slows for a moment, his thighs tightening from the dizzy angle.

“What,” he pants, and Steve pulls him in to whisper against his ear.

“I want you to tell me what I told you in the crowd.”

Billy shudders.

“What do you mean?” he asks breathily, but it’s clear that he knows exactly what Steve means.

“I know it’s true,” Steve half taunts, because he does. He’s seen it in the way Billy looks at him. In the way Billy talks when he’s around. The way Billy fucks him. Nancy never did any of that. Not even in the beginning. “I just want you to say it, baby. I want to hear it from your lips.”

Billy stops moving entirely and leans into his chest. He’s still shaking.

“Harrington, I--” he sounds tortured. Scared. He shakes his head and Steve feels wet against his shoulder.

“Shhh,” he soothes with a hand on his back and in his hair. “Nothing’s gonna change. Just say it.”

Billy pulls back from him and meets his eyes slowly. They’re so wide and worried, but they’re excited too. Steve is suddenly not so concerned that he’s fucking this up.

“I love you, Steve Harrington,” he murmurs, and Steve feels a flush through his entire body.

“Fuck,” he gasps, sitting up to kiss his lips. “Turn around, baby.”

Billy does as he’s told and after a moment of scrambling he’s laid out chest down where Steve was just lying, with Steve behind him, lining his cock up to slip back inside. Billy’s sweatshirt is discarded on the seat underneath him to protect the black leather, and his back is left so sweetly bare for Steve to lean in and kiss.

“You ready for me?” he asks, teasing Billy’s wet hole with just the head.

Billy moves his hips back and groans low and dangerous, clutching the seat.

“Just do it, princess,” he threatens. Steve doesn’t think that will ever not be hot.

He pulls Billy back and presses his own hips powerfully forward, spearing him hard and fast. All the breath goes out of Billy as Steve immediately hits his prostate, and the muscles of his back shudder beautifully.

Steve doesn’t waste time with teasing or slowness. That’s Billy’s game, and Steve’s already exhausted from the concert and an orgasm of his own. As much as he wants this to last forever, he wants to lay out in the back of the car, spooned around Billy, and drift off into the greatest sleep he’s ever had even more.

So he builds a rhythm. As driving and heavy as the ones they were just dancing to. And at this angle, he’s hitting that spot inside Billy with nearly every pounding stroke. Billy’s thighs are shaking before long, and he’s all heavy breaths and long strings of expletives.

“Fuck, Steve,” he groans, arching back into a thrust like he might die without it, “I’m-- I can’t-- I’m ohh, oh fuck…”

Billy comes before Steve is half there, his whole body shuddering with the orgasm he’s been building to all night. Steve realizes he just came from Steve’s cock in his ass alone and he gets a little closer to his own orgasm, but he’s still not quite there. Damn Billy and his fucking handjob.

“Fuck, baby, that was…” Steve strokes a hand down his back, stilling against him while his boyfriend fights to catch his breath. Billy hums and rolls his hips against Steve irresistibly.

“Keep going,” he demands. “Come in me.”

“But--” Steve frowns, feeling Billy’s painfully overstimulated shudder as his cock drags out of him a little and back in.

“Just do it,” Billy demands.

So Steve does. The sounds that spill from Billy now are broken and desperate in the sexiest possible way, and although he doesn’t talk much now, when he does it’s exactly what Steve needs to hear to throw him over that one last edge.

“Mmm I fucking love you, Steve, I love you…” he mutters like he doesn’t even know he’s saying it, and Steve feels his spirit leave his body for a second as he comes hard into Billy’s tender ass, holding him close by his hips as the rings of muscle milk him through it to the last.

“I love you too, Billy,” he mutters against his lover’s ear, and Billy deflates beneath him as he slides out.

He turns his head and pulls Steve down into the world’s laziest kiss with a smirk.

“D’you love me enough to go get the blanket from the trunk? I don’t think I’m gonna be moving for a while.”

Steve smiles back and nods, kissing his shoulder.

“I’ll make you comfortable, babe,” he says. “I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> The concert Billy and Steve go to is a real concert that really happened at the Sherwood Country Club in Indianapolis on January 30th, 1985.  
> Because the internet is a beautiful place, you can listen to the audio (which is very clearly from an old and slightly warped tape but is still pretty good) from most of Metallica's set [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=obwTlzxCpl8&list=PLBcuDVuGbeaw-d-vo1t7CvqFlbcPT2ADy) (except for the intro song, Ennio Morricone’s [The Ecstacy of Gold](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PYI09PMNazw)), and watch (with absolute potato audio) most of W.A.S.P.'s set [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nw8T5DGGZG8&app=desktop).
> 
> The dialogue for Blackie Lawless, frontman of W.A.S.P., was pulled from [7:45](https://youtu.be/Nw8T5DGGZG8?t=7m45s) and [34:30](https://youtu.be/Nw8T5DGGZG8?t=34m30s) and [47:05](https://youtu.be/Nw8T5DGGZG8?t=47m5s) (and yes that second one is even more cringey than I made it seem). The dialogue for James Hetfield, frontman of Metallica, was pulled from the beginning of "[Ride the Lightning](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=snYuMNd0j_c&index=2&list=PLBcuDVuGbeaw-d-vo1t7CvqFlbcPT2ADy)," the end of "[Phantom Lord](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0_pwuNhSdAA&list=PLBcuDVuGbeaw-d-vo1t7CvqFlbcPT2ADy&index=3=4m30s)," the beginning of "[Anesthesia (Pulling Teeth)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PddgalWroIQ&list=PLBcuDVuGbeaw-d-vo1t7CvqFlbcPT2ADy&index=4)"
> 
> This is the essential design of Steve’s W.A.S.P. shirt (1984-85 [Winged Assassins](https://img0.etsystatic.com/101/2/11831581/il_570xN.911778800_3ov4.jpg) Tour), and this is the design of Billy’s Metallica one (1985 [Ride The Lightning](http://i.ebayimg.com/images/i/262229142627-0-1/s-l1000.jpg) Tour).
> 
> Yes, I did way too much research for this fic. And yes, I will now prefer the version of For Whom The Bell Tolls from this show to the album version from now on because I've listened to it ad nauseum. Thank you for asking.


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